


Surrender

by WhitethornWolf



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Creative Uses of Incense, F/M, Shameless Smut, Temperature Play, oops feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/WhitethornWolf
Summary: From where Daya stands she can see all of him--but he can’t see her. All he can do is feel, and that is perfect for her purpose.~





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Apprentice is my genderfluid/nonbinary apprentice Daya.  
> Follow me @lesbianarcana for the good stuff

“I have something for you.”

Asra pauses in the middle of shucking off his jacket and glances up, his eyes following Daya as she crosses the room.

“Oh?” he says, voice lilting curiously. “What is it?”

She retrieve her bag from the foot of the bed and begins to rummage, squinting in the dim lantern light. Asra watches her as he unwinds his scarf, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Just a moment. I hope I haven’t forgotten it--ah-ha!”

Her fingers close over smooth glass, and she grins triumphantly. She sits on the bed next to Asra and unstoppers the tiny vial.

“Hold out your hand,” she says, and shakes out a little incense stick onto his palm. Eyes wide, Asra lifts it to his nose and breathes in. A smile spreads across his face.

“Ohh,  _ Daya _ . How did you manage to get this?”

Daya beams. “It was a gift from Nadia! I was going to ask Princess Navra to send me some from Prakra, buuuut I didn’t want to wait...so I asked Nadia and she gave me a few from her own stores.”

“Remind me to thank Nadia,” Asra says. Daya snaps her fingers and the incense stick ignites. Dimples appear in his cheeks as his eyes follow the thin trail of golden smoke that winds around them. He places the incense on the nightstand and turns back to her, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I assume you have ideas for its use.”

Daya tilts her head and smiles; an expression of feigned innocence. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you,” Asra laughs. He leans forward and plants a kiss under her jaw, in a sensitive spot he knew very well would spark her desire. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “ _ Tell me. _ ”

Daya  _ does  _ in fact have an idea, one she’s been planning for since they left Vesuvia on vacation. It's a plan borne of two things: one, her eagerness to expand upon their brief-but- _ very _ -enjoyable encounter in the Magician’s realm. Two: her wish to do something nice for Asra.

Or  _ to _ Asra, whatever the case may be.

She pulls back a little, taking his chin between her thumb and index finger and kisses him, swallowing his soft moan.

“You can find out,” she says, low and sensuous, “but it will require a little surrender on your part.”

She’s close enough to hear his breath catch. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Asra says immediately, and she loves him for it. “What do you want me to do?”

Daya cups his face and brings him in for another kiss. Bursts of red and purple flow from her fingers, mingling with their pleasure-sounds as they draw into each other, pressing as close as possible. Her hands trail down his neck, fiddling with his necklace. He’s already working at the buttons on his shirt and unwinding his shawl, leaving his chest bare.

Asra’s fingers curl under her blouse, dancing teasingly over her ribs. Daya stops him with a shake of her head.

“Lay down on your stomach.”

Curiosity, amusement and anticipation flash across Asra’s face in quick succession, but he flops back on the bed with a soft thump and turns over.

“What are you up to, Daya?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’ll see,” she says, matching his teasing tone. “Down you go, honey.”

Asra bites his lip at the pet name, and Daya notes with interest the little shiver that runs through him. But he lies down without protest, pillowing his cheeks on his crossed arms, and watches quietly as she gets up and walks to the nightstand. She makes a show of removing her bracelets and rings one by one, placing each in a little pile by his necklace and choker.

“I wonder,” Asra says out loud. He turns his head to watch as she crosses the room and retrieves her bag. “What can you do with me like this, hm?”

“You’d be surprised,” Daya says, and moves back into his peripheral vision. She places another lit incense stick, a vial of oil and a few damp cloths on the nightstand, just within his field of view. Asra’s aura glows, streams of fluttering purple and orange. His smile is still mischievous, but there’s a definite tension to it. Anticipation, it seems, is half the turn-on for him, and Daya smiles to herself as she moves behind him.

She begins to undress. It’s quiet in the little house, and she knows he can just hear the rustle of fabric as her clothes drop to the floor. His head turns from left to right impatiently, but she takes her time, watching the moonlight illuminate his languide form. The incense is beginning to fade, but she can still see iridescent streams of light dancing over his narrow shoulders and the curve of his spine.

From where Daya stands she can see all of him--but he can’t see her. All he can do is  _ feel _ , and that is perfect for her purpose.

Asra starts at her warm weight settling astride him, resting on the backs of his thighs, and he murmurs something into his arm.

“What was that?”

“Mmh.” His back arches, ass pressing teasingly into her, and Daya chuckles. “You’re spoiling me.”

“We haven’t even begun yet. Besides, I love you, and you deserve to be spoiled.”

“Mm--love you,” he mumbles. “I don’t know about  _ deserve _ ...”

“Nonsense,” Daya says, and lays her palms on his tailbone. “You’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point though, won’t you?”

“With what?” Asra asks--then he groans deeply as red and orange light blooms under her hands. He drops his forehead into the pillow, back arching. “Ohh.  _ That _ . That feels nice.”

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”

“I will. But please don’t, not...ahh,  _ there _ . Right there--”

Daya smoothes her heated palms up his back, away from his spine and up his sides with a firm pressure. There’s so  _ many  _ knotted muscles; so much tension from the base of his spine upwards. It’s perhaps unsurprising given the amount of running around they’d done in the last few weeks, but she can’t help but click her tongue in dismay.

“You should have told me your muscles were this tight,” she admonishes him. “I would have done this sooner.”

Asra grunts softly as her fingers push at a stubborn knot.

“Didn’t...didn’t have time,” he mumbles. “With Lucio and the Masquerade…”

“I know, we had things to deal with. But taking care of yourself is important too.”

Asra stills under her hands as she works, and as the minutes pass Daya begins to wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Then he shifts as she presses firmly on his shoulders, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” Daya whispers into his ear, voice heavy with promise, and punctuates with a kiss to the nape of his neck. Asra starts at the touch, then laughs softly. 

“Don’t worry about me, Daya. I’m wide awake.”

“Good. Turn over for me.”

He obeys, slowly at first, and squints as his eyes adjust to the light. Daya hovers while he splays out comfortably, tucking one hand behind his head, then settles back in his lap. Her naked form is lit up in the rays of moonlight, breasts and stomach and thighs painted in blue and purple; blending into the darkness above and around them. The faint glow of her aura flutters over her skin. Asra takes a deep breath as he drinks her in, devours her with a gaze full of hunger.

“Beautiful,” he says hoarsely, and reaches for her. “You’re so beautiful, Daya.”

His hand trembles as he touches her skin slowly, almost reverently-- and she  _ wants  _ to relent. She really does. He’s half-hard already between her legs, and if she just--but no, that wasn’t what she planned. She’s waited this long, and she can be patient.

She lifts his hand to her lips, brushing a light kiss across his knuckles, then kisses the inside of his wrist. Her lips linger on his pulse-point for a moment...then she presses his hand into the mattress, fingers circling his wrist. Blindly she reaches for his other hand and does the same, and he goes without resistance.

“No touching,” she says softly. “Not yet.”

Asra’s gaze trails downward. Her nipples are hard from the chilly air; they brush a gentle, swaying curve across his chest, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches.

“ _ Asra _ .”

His eyes flick back to her face, and he grins sheepishly. But he doesn’t move as Daya sits back up, hands braced on his chest.

“Can you blame me for wanting to?” he asks, without an ounce of shame. “I told you my dreams can get pretty wild. This is...well, pretty close to at  _ least  _ one of them.”

“Is that so?” Daya says idly, and begins to warm her hands again. Waves of yellow light wash over his skin, lighting it up in deeper gold. Asra squirms under her, flushed from cheeks to shoulders.

“Bet you're glad you taught me that temperature trick now,” she murmurs teasingly, and Asra laughs. “I’m guessing you didn’t exactly have this in mind when you did.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says breathlessly, and grips at his pillow. “You’ve always been creative with magic. I shouldn’t be surprised you came up with it on your own.”

Daya lays her hand on his heart, above where the magic sigil glimmers just under his skin. An  _ ache _ rushes over her; an echo of his own excitement and arousal, and Daya feels her own throb in response. Her head falls back, a soft groan escaping from her lips, chased by Asra’s low chuckle. It feels  _ delicious _ , so good she ruts against him without thinking, and he bites back a little moan. A shiver runs through her, bringing the plan back to mind--she’s meant to be changing the temperature around her hands again.  _ Getting creative _ , as Asra puts it.

Daya squeezes her eyes shut, tunes into the chilly air and thinks not of warmth this time, but of  _ cold _ . The snowy forest in the magical realm; the bite of the air against skin and clothes more suited to a Vesuvian summer. The cool waters of the fountain in the Palace, soaking her dress at the Masquerade. Freezing winter rain and wind. The chilly, salty ocean breeze down at the docks…

Her hands glow ice-blue, radiating out from her palms in waves. Asra jerks in surprise and gives a ragged little gasp. For a moment Daya stills, thinking she’s hurt him--but then he’s gasping in pleasure and arching his spine.

“Yessss,” he pants. His hands fist on the sheets. “ _ Yes _ , Daya-- _ hah _ \--”

She loves when he says her name like that, breathless and  _ needy _ . “Is this alright? Can I keep going?”

“ _ Ngh _ \--yes--”

She lays a chilled palm on his stomach. Asra’s hands leave the bed and scramble along her hips, frantic, before coming to rest on the curve of her ass.

“Ah-ah-ah!”

Daya grabs his hands and pins him again, and he relents with a huff of displeasure.

“Be  _ patient _ , Asra. Otherwise I’ll have to punish you.”

“How?” Asra pants. His hips buck against hers, impatient and demanding. “How will you? Tell me.”

Daya leans in close, until her breath brushes light over his lips. He lifts his chin, eyes heavy, lips parting in anticipation for a kiss.

“Why tell you when I can show you?” she whispers, and he groans in frustration as she moves away.

The more wound-up Asra becomes the more beautiful he is, and Daya can’t help but pause for a moment to admire her handiwork. He’s shuddering in earnest now, the muscles of his core clenching and jumping at the merest brush of her fingers. He gazes at her intensely, lips parted and chest heaving. Yet he waits, gripping the windowsill above him, and surrenders to the pleasure-pain of her freezing touch. 

This is exactly what she wanted. To see Asra give himself over to her hands, to trust her, to let her take care of him. She would make sure he was well rewarded for it.

Daya reaches down. Asra stiffens as her hands brush his belly, then relaxes at the tug on his waistband. “Okay if I take these off?”

“Please,” he gasps. His hands shake as he works at the buttons, and he lifts his hips obligingly so she can slide them down and off, tossing them aside and leaving him bare. She can clearly see the effect her teasing has on him, and her mouth goes dry at the sight. 

Asra isn’t as powerfully built as Muriel or even Julian, but he’s not weak by any means. His strength lies in his calves and thighs from habitual walking and riding, and Daya can feel the shift of well-toned muscles under her lips as she kisses his bare thigh. Her fingers are still cold; she dances them over his skin and watches the fine hairs on his thighs stand up. Now she’s close, she can really see the way he reacts to her touch. 

Daya presses firm thumbs into the sharp curves of his hipbones, traces her nails up his inner thigh and kneads firm pressure across his perineum and is rewarded. Little murmurs, ragged gasps and moans, jerks of his hips and deep arches of his spine follow her teasing touches. 

As she sits up to check up on him she can see his skin shines with sweat; his usually soft voice hoarse as he pants and writhes under her. And still his hands grip the windowsill, white-knuckled and tense. 

She  _ aches  _ at the sight, wet enough to slicken her thighs, and every movement and sound loosens the grip she has on her own patience. She wants badly to stroke and rub and fuck all the tension out of him. And maybe, selfishly, out of herself. 

Daya groans to herself as she pulls back, her core clenching. Patience was never her strong suit.

“Pass me the oil, please,” she manages to say, and Asra complies. “And that big pillow.”

He sits up to watch with eyes like saucers as she positions his legs, wedging the pillow under his hips.

“Are you--” he pauses, licking his lips. “Are you going to--? Is that what the oil is--?”

Daya nods. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Asra nods, biting his lip. He looks so excited and wound up, she can’t resist teasing him a little. “I thought you wanted me to punish you.”

“ _ You’re _ the one in charge tonight,” he teases back, then his smile softens. “You can do what you want. You know you have all of me here. Always.”

Daya smiles fondly, recognising her own words, echoed back to her from their first time in the Magician’s realm. She and Asra came together hard and fast on that beach; desperate to feel and desperate to lose themselves while they could, stealing moments in between one crisis after another. 

If Asra wants to, if he has the energy for it...she’ll take him on the bed like she did in the magical realm. The memory of it makes Daya bite her lip as a shiver of excitement runs through her.

A feeling of deja vu fills her chest as she coats her fingers in the oil, but exactly what prompts it, she’s not sure. The anticipation in Asra’s eyes while he watches her prepare; a brief flash of memory from their past life together...

She presses a slickened finger to his entrance and and slides in slowly, carefully. Asra’s cock twitches against his stomach, the muscles of his legs tensing. His jaw slackens.

“This okay?” Daya murmurs, bending over him, and placing a firm kiss to his chest.

“One more,” he chokes out.

She’s slow to add a second finger, conscious of hurting him, but he rewards her with a moan and lifts his hips, taking her fingers to the knuckle. His own fingers grip the windowsill so tight he could have dug furrows in the wood, if he had the strength for it. Daya leans over him again and draws him up for a deep kiss.

Asra groans her name against her mouth, kissing her lips, her nose, her neck--all frenzied, punctuated only by his heavy breaths.

“How do you feel, beloved?”

“Good, good,  _ so good _ \--” he’s barely coherent, his white curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyelashes fluttering. “A little more, a little deeper--”

Asra cuts himself off with a yelp as her seeking fingers find their target. His whole body rises to meet her. The tendons in his neck stand out, every muscle pulling taut. His hands fly to her hips, gripping tight,  _ tighter _ , and she’ll have bruises in the morning, but she doesn’t care. He hangs on to her for dear life; eyes rolled back, legs trembling, grinding helplessly against her fingers.

“Look at you,” she purrs, nuzzling into his neck. Their bodies slide together easily, and Daya tastes sweat on Asra’s skin when she bites down on his neck. Asra’s forehead falls onto her shoulder; between them his cock throbs, and there’s wetness on her stomach when she settles back. Her fingers massage the spot inside him, slow and hard. Unable to help herself, her free hand drifts between her legs, chasing pressure and friction.

“Wait--wait--w--”

Immediately Daya pauses. Asra sits up, his arms shaking from the effort, and she’s never seen him look so  _ wrecked _ ; so close to coming undone.

“Not yet,” he says, voice strangled. “Not just yet--”

“You want to slow down a little?” she asks. She pauses her other hand too, swallowing hard.

Asra shakes his head. “I want--want to feel you. On top.”

“You want me to ride you?”

Asra exhales shakily and nods. Daya bites her lip on a little moan, and carefully withdraws her fingers. He passes her one of the cloths to wipe her hands clean.

“You’ve had enough, huh?” she teases him.

“J-just about.” He lies back down, his hands smoothing over her thighs. “Wh-when you have a plan, you really follow through. I must look a mess.”

Laughing, Daya climbs over his body and leans down to kiss him.

“No, you look magnificent,” she murmurs, “and you did so well. Are you ready for me?”

“Please.”

Even as wound up as she is, she can't resist teasing him. “Please what?”

Asra lets out a choked laugh, reaching for her as she settles in his lap. His hips press upward, grinding into her wetness, and they both shudder. Daya takes his cock in hand, drawing a firm thumb up the underside, and sinks down onto him. No more teasing.

Asra groans, softly this time, his hips stuttering and pressing against hers. His hands slide from her hips to her waist, skims over her breasts and frames her face. One thumb brushes her bottom lip and Daya takes the digit into her mouth, tongue swirling over the whorls in his skin.

“Is this what you had in mind?” she asks as she moves in a steady rhythm, braced back against his thighs. “A little slower?”

“Almost,” Asra pants, then his hand dips between her legs. His fingers are cool --  _ too  _ cool, Daya realises, and she laughs breathlessly. His thumb chills rapidly, teasing the swollen bud, and her laughter turns into a heavy moan. Her fingers spasm on his thighs; she couldn’t stop herself from thrusting against his hand if she tried.

“Y-you don’t have t-to-- _ahh!_ _Asra--_ ”

“I want to.” His eyes focus on her face. “Daya, look at me.”

She does with effort, legs tight and coiled, vision fuzzy around the edges as he urges her higher and higher. Her rhythm stutters, distracted by the relentless flick-and-circle of his thumb. Coupled with the cold against the heat of her arousal, it’s so much pressure she can’t  _ stand  _ it--then there’s one more flick and she comes apart, crying out while her legs shake and spasm. Then she’s falling forward, the strength flowing out of her, and she’s steadied with gentle hands.

“I’ve got you,” Asra murmurs breathlessly, and Daya leans heavily on his thigh for support. When her head stops spinning she glances up, meeting his gaze.

“Good?”

She laughs weakly. “So good.”

Daya clenches around him; he cries out, hips jerking. He's tense again, legs tight underneath her, the muscles of his core pulling inward.

“I'm close,” he breathes, eyelashes fluttering.  “Daya--I'm--”

“I know. You’re almost there.”

She slides off him, her legs shaking, and takes him in hand again. Asra quivers as she strokes him with a firm pressure. His eyes flutter shut and his fingers slacken, sliding back down to the sheets.

“Daya--” he begins, then cuts himself off with a curse, bucking wildly into her hand.

“Come for me, love,” Daya says softly. Her hand finds his in the sheets; he clutches her fingers like a lifeline. “Let it all go.”

“F- _ fuck _ ,” he gasps. “I--I’m--”

Asra stops again. His cock throbs in her hand, he tenses, then he’s coming with a desperate cry all over his stomach and chest. Daya strokes him through it until he’s twitching and oversensitive in her hand, spread bonelessly on the bed. Only then does she release him and reach for the cloth.

“Good,” she murmurs, as his chest heaves. He barely moves when she cleans herself then him--then she glances up, and notices his cheeks are shining.

“Asra? What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, wiping impatiently at his cheeks, but he won’t look at her. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset, and it’s not nothing,” Daya insists. She sets the cloths on the nightstand and sits on the bed beside him, brushing his sweat-soaked hair aside. “Tell me. I’ll help if I can.”

“I…” 

Asra glances up at her, cheek pillowed on her hand, and gives her a shaky smile.

“I-it was just intense, that’s all,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t so long ago I thought I might--that we might never…”

Daya pulls him into a sitting position and wraps her arms about him. Asra leans his head against her shoulder with a shaky sigh.

“I know you did,” she says softly. She strokes his hair, rubs between his shoulder blades. “But I’m here now, and you have me now. I’m not going anywhere.”

She kneads his neck until his breathing begins to slow. Finally he kisses her shoulder and pulls back, touching her cheek with gentle fingers.

“What would I do without you, Daya?” he says, resting his forehead against his.

“Definitely not this.” Asra snorts. “I have another idea, if you’d like to hear it.”

Asra’s eyebrows quirk. “More?”

“You think I’m finished with you yet?” Daya says, and his eyes widen. “Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Ah--” he looks nervous all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I--”

Daya begins to laugh, and Asra’s shoulders slump, relieved.

“You had me for a minute,” he laughs, and she grin.

“I think anything that’s not a bath and sleep would kill me right now.” Daya glances down at the messy bed, wrinkling her nose at the sweat-soaked sheets. “Hm, maybe make the bed when we can walk properly.”

Asra smiles at her, his expression soft. “I can do that.”

Daya stands up and offers an arm, and together they help each other from the room.

**Author's Note:**

> You think only Julian's route can do temperature play? Pls


End file.
